


Les objets sont bleus

by Xenadd



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: Rebels
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Pre-show, Song Lyrics, post-AND
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-01
Updated: 2015-07-01
Packaged: 2018-04-07 04:01:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 817
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4248567
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Xenadd/pseuds/Xenadd
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It had been two weeks since Hera had suggested that they put a pause on whatever they were doing, and Kanan had agreed. Two long, sleepless weeks.</p><p>Hera wakes Kanan from the torment of his nightmares.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Les objets sont bleus

Hera stretched her back as she levered herself out of her chair in the cockpit. All systems were triple checked and functioning perfectly. She had fixed the slight imbalance in the grav drive - _at last_. She had been meaning to do that since the.. incident with Kanan. Simulations run, coordinates input, contacts contacted and data sent. She had even cleaned the galley. They were running dark, and there was nothing left to do but take her own advice for once and get some sleep. 

Sighing as she moved through the Ghost’s dark halls, Hera tugged her gloves off and slid her cap down her lekku. Her headtails prickled as they were exposed to the cool ship’s air; the atmos settings had been kept low in the night cycle recently, the cooler temperature preventing any… overheating in a shared bed. Since they had decided to cool things off - Hera snorted - she would have to adjust that. Later. She had procrastinated long enough for tonight and her ( _cold)_ empty bunk called to her.

It had been two weeks since Hera had suggested that they put a pause on whatever they were doing, and Kanan had agreed. Two long, sleepless weeks. Conveniently, intel had brought them an op that had them racing from system to system, dodging imperials at every turn.  But all good things come to the end and the last two days had been spent in enforced downtime as they lay low. Downtime, thinking time, _no rest for the wicked._

Surprisingly ( _liar)_ Hera had found it hard to adjust back a full bunk to herself; it was a tiny bunk anyway. Nowhere near enough room for two, of course.  But it had become a comfort ( _distraction)_ to wake to a warm body pressed against her back, too-long limbs wrapped around her, a bearded tickle between her shoulder blades and hair everywhere. Too much. She needed her focus. They needed to focus. On the mission, everything was about the mission, and what had been intended as a relief ( _electric; palpable; the heat burning in her belly, scorching her mouth_ ) was turning into _something_. Too much of something.

Hera paused outside her room to unclip her jumpsuit, letting it drop to her waist as she pulled off her chest-plate and opened the door to her room. A thump came from the room across the hall, followed by restless sounds. Hera had accidentally overheard him before… an anxious murmur came through low and clear. This was definitely not like that time. It had been months since she had heard his nightmares.

Tossing her chest-plate into her room, she knocked quietly on Kanan’s door. 

_‘Kanan?’_

No response. Hera opened the door and was met with the sight of tangled hair, twisted sheets, a sweat-drenched Kanan. Grateful that she had dimmed the ship’s lighting to a gentle glow, Hera made her way to kneel by Kanan’s bunk.

She rested her bare fingers between his furrowed brows, trying to smooth his tortured frown away before running them up to rest in his hair. _No… master, run, why why… Grey…_ Kanan’s words gave way to formless mutters, his chest heaving with unseen exertion. Knuckles white as he clenched the sheets.

_Au clair de la lune  
_

Hera began to sing, little more than a whisper into Kanan’s ear, her fingers slowly smoothing through the tangled mess of his hair.

_Les objets sont bleus_

A lullaby, stronger now, that had always been her favourite. Sung to her on dreamy nights by her mother in long lost days. From before her father carried the entire world on his back. 

_Plaignons l'infortune_

At last Kanan’s mutters grew quiet and he stilled, fists unclenching though his chest still heaved. Hera brought her other hand to lie along his jaw, thumb stroking his cheekbone, as she rested her forehead against his. Cool skin against hot.

_De ce malheureux_

Bleary blue eyes opened as the song died on her lips, a hand grasping hers.

‘Come to bed.’ 

Confusion crossed his face. ‘But I’m already in bed?’ 

Hera stood, pulling his wrist after her, forcing him up and out of the bunk. Carefully ignoring the line of his sleep trousers low on his hips, she led him across the hall and into her room, pushing him onto her not-insignificantly larger bunk. Aware of his tired eyes on her every move she stripped off her boots and the remainders of her flightsuit. A loose sleep shirt pulled over her head (one of his? damn), she nudged Kanan to lie down before draping herself comfortably around him. Fingers drawing into the tangle of hair at the base of his neck and nose buried behind his ear.

_Au clair de la lune  
Les objets sont bleus_

_No more distractions._

A hum spilled out of her until his breathing slowed and her eyes slid shut.

 _Ce n'est pas un jeu_  
Ouvrez-lui la porte  
Pour l'amour de Dieu

**Author's Note:**

> The song used is 'Au clair de la lune’, which is an C18th French folk song. Song notes here
> 
> Originally posted on Tumbr.


End file.
